


More Care to Stay than Will to Go

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mercutio has a terrible migraine, and for some unfathomable reason, Tybalt decides to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Care to Stay than Will to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SosearchingRomeo (Breakingthestandards)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/gifts).



Tybalt entered the ballroom of the Della Scala palace right behind Lord and Lady Capulet, Juliet at his side, and immediately surveyed the room for any sign of danger. That he was not officially on guard duty did not change a thing. He did not trust his uncle's men to protect Juliet, and if the palace guards were quite competent, an attack coming from them was not to be neglected. If he had to stand at his uncle's side and bear with the mundane talk, and bow at the lords and ladies, he might as well make himself useful.

They were fashionably late, and the room was already bustling with people, but he saw no sign of danger. Mercutio, however, was conspicuously absent. And since he could not possibly have found an excuse strong enough to avoid going to his uncle's annual feast, he must be hiding somewhere, planning a prank of some sort, of which the Capulets would certainly be the target. Tybalt had to investigate. Excusing himself to Juliet, he went in search of him.

He found him, as it were, after some time, sitting with his head on his knees, hidden in the shades of a balcony's curtains, as far away from the celebrations as could be without not being here entirely. He seemed to be in pain, but then with Mercutio everything could be an act.

“What are you doing, Della Scala?”

Mercutio winced. That and the groan that escaped him were clear enough signs that he was suffering. Still, Tybalt couldn't repress a laugh.

“Hungover before the party? That's a new one, even for you!”

Mercutio shook his head, which evidently resulted in more pain, as he clutched at his skulls. Tybalt knew too well that feeling. Crouching next to him – still wary that this might all be a trap – he spoke as low as he could. “Headache?”

“Hm,” Mercutio mumbled. “Leave me alone. I need quiet.”

Tybalt couldn't repress a loud chuckle. And felt the need to apologize. To Mercutio, of all people! But there was no honour in striking an enemy when he was down, and if Mercutio had often mocked him for his fits, he knew to be the better of the two. It pained him to admit it – and he certainly would _not_ admit it to anyone but himself – but he loved to hate him. Mercutio was the only adversary of his stature: he was pleased to say none of those Montague curs were a match for him. As much as Mercutio got on his nerves, fighting him brought some sort of relief – of knowing he could stand his own, knowing he was perfectly capable of defending himself, and his family, even in his condition. Most of all, it let him forget about responsibilities, for an instant, when he could just concentrate on the fight, Mercutio's next move and how to counter it, how to deal the next blow – he could hear that damned man make a joke at this choice of words – and bring him to his knees, making good on his promise to beat him up, but not too far, no, never too much, for one should protect such a, well, worthy adversary, if he dared say it so. And that, or so he told himself, was why he should help him now.

“Come on, you're never quiet. And not next to a ballroom that'll have people dancing and chatting over the music in a few minutes' time.”

“Uncle wants me here.”

“No, he wants you socializing with people, and that's not going to happen anytime soon. Come on.”

He tried to get Mercutio up, and the man surprisingly let him, then leaned against the wall for support.

“Where's your room?”

Mercutio managed a joke, more as a reflex than anything else, but his smile wasn't really there. His head must be throbbing. People would arrive into the room any minute now, and he was sure Mercutio would not want anyone to see him like that. Even though they would simply assume he was drunk, as Tybalt had.

“Can you walk, or do I have to carry you?” Tybalt asked, ignoring his quip.

“How romantic... I'd love to.”

But they both had their pride, it seemed, and Mercutio simply agreed to lean on him. He did seem dizzy, like he couldn't quite see where he was heading.

As soon as they reached Mercutio's room, Tybalt let him slump on the bed while he closed the heavy curtains, so the lights of the party that extended to the palace's gardens would not bother him.

In the darkness, he made his way back to the bed, where Mercutio had rolled on his stomach and was hiding his face in a pillow.

“Hey.” Tybalt tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need anything? More pillows perhaps?”

“I'm fine!” he grumbled, and Tybalt couldn't help but notice that, for all he railed at Tybalt's own foul mood, Mercutio could be little better.

“Clearly not.” Still, he gave him some space, and went to pick up a cover from the couch nearby to place it over him. He'd probably be much better tucked in bed, but he was still wearing all his clothes, not least of which his shoes – and Tybalt was certain that Mercutio was not feeling sick enough to let himself be undressed. He'd probably need to be unconscious for that. And Tybalt also, as he could not stand the innuendos that would undoubtedly follow – if not now, then upon their next meeting. The weaker he appeared now, the worse he would be later. Tybalt knew that much: Mercutio would not suffer any kind of humiliation without retaliating. He sighed.

“Some water, at least? Medicine?”

“Gotta go back. Uncle'll kill me.”

“Oh, no, you stay here.” He found a pitcher nearby, filled a glass and handed it to Mercutio, who sat up to take it. It was hard to keep his tone down when Mercutio was being so obstinate. “You're in no state to hold a conversation, let alone dance or I don't know what it is you plan to do. I'll cover for you.”

“And how?”

“If he's looking for you, I tell him I saw you from afar earlier so he'll think you're around. Don't be so obstinate,” he added, “you'll have plenty of other occasions to make my life miserable.”

He didn't wait for Mercutio's reaction, and made it back to the party just as Juliet was starting to worry and look for him. The evening went by in relative peace. Only once the Prince came by looking for Mercutio, asking Tybalt if he had any idea of his nephew's whereabouts since, in his own words, they usually knew how to find each other when it was to start trouble. When Tybalt answered that he saw him earlier in the gardens, the Prince went away mumbling not so discreetly about how he must be busy in the bushes with some lady, and seemed to abandon the search. Tybalt could not explain the sudden pang of jealousy he felt, even though he knew very well that the Prince was wrong. And how did this concern him anyway. Trying to put that feeling behind, he did his best to enjoy the evening, dancing with his aunt, of with Juliet, both happy to pretext that their next dance had to be with him whenever some lord or other was being too insistent.

When the evening drew to an end, and his family made to go home, however, he excused himself again saying he still had business to attend to, and would come back on foot. His uncle warned him not to start a fight, something Tybalt could easily promise him, as he knew the only worthy opponent was in no state to spar.

He doubled back, eased his way unnoticed through the last guests – who were still quite a lot, even at this late hour – to the private parts of the palace, strangely unguarded, and into Mercutio's room. The creaking noises the door made did not agree with Mercutio's headache, judging from the way he cursed under his breath. By the hallway's lights, Tybalt noticed he'd taken off his shoes, and was hiding under the comforter.

“Come to check up on me?” he said, his voice full of irony.

“Yes?” Tybalt admitted without detour.

“Oh, it's you,” he grunted. “thought it was my uncle. What is it, you took pity on me?”

Tybalt sighed. Could he ever do anything without being accused of _something?_

“Not pity, no. Simply, I sympathize.” He went on before Mercutio could interrupt him to say those two were the same: “I know how painful it is, that's all. Anyway, since you're feeling good enough to rant at me, I'll show myself out.”

“wait!” Mercutio called as he was almost already in the hallway.

Tybalt came back in and closed the door again behind him so as not to be seen. He didn't want to consider what would happen if he got caught there, or was even seen by a servant. He was tired, and quite frankly a bit weary of this whole situation.

“what is it?” he asked.

“You should stay. If you get one of your fits on the way home I'll never hear the end of it.”

“Not everyone is an asshole like you.” He could not help being defensive. If he really thought Tybalt would blame him if anything happened – like he was doing this to get leverage on him somehow – or did Mercutio expect him to ask for favours any time soon?

But he did have a point.

“Your cousin.”

“What about her?” How _dare he_ bring up Juliet now! Tybalt had more and more difficulties keeping his voice down, in spite of Mercutio's headache and the late hour that meant being surprised here would bring no end of troubles.

“She'd kill me if anything happened to you.”

Oh. Tybalt couldn't repress a smile then. He sure was proud of her.

Mercutio scooted to the other side of the bed, leaving ample space for him. And he must be feeling very sick to do all that without any hint of an innuendo. Well, that was more talking already than Tybalt would ever wish to have to do after one of his fits, when he had one such headache, so he could understand. But it felt weird, having Mercutio, unironic and _nice_ , pat the space on the bed next to him, inviting him to join him in all seriousness. Almost... domestic. And quite tempting. And he'd certainly regret it later – Mercutio would make sure of that, but right then, with the prospect of the walk home, having to dodge the servants, and probably a couple drunk Montagues, in his state of exhaustion... yes, it was definitely far too tempting.

He hesitated a while, before taking off his shoes and undressing himself as much as he dared, and lay down next to Mercutio.

He _could_ have taken the couch. Even if Mercutio would probably have mocked him later for it, for wanting to keep his distances, for being afraid. He probably _should_ have taken the couch, and avoided for himself the lifetime of misery that would undoubtedly follow as Mercutio would take every opportunity to remind him of that one time they shared a bed.

The only excuse he had for himself, besides tiredness, was that Mercutio's couch, or what he'd seen of it in the dark, looked cold and hard, and above all a bit short for him, whereas the bed seemed warm and comfortable.

And if Mercutio wasted no time to roll over and cuddle, he did not complain, instead turning over to wrap his arms around him. For all their fights, all the animosity between them, they weren't so dissimilar. He figured Mercutio must feel more lonely than he let on, when his friends weren't around and his uncle was treating him like a puppet he could wave around, never mind that he was sick – Tybalt could definitely relate to that.

There may be cursing the next morning, and there would definitely be fights in the future, but for the time being, in that weird truce they'd found, he would try to provide what comfort he sometimes wished others could give him. Which, right now, seemed to mean being used as a pillow and dealing with Mercutio's shifting every other minute in his search for a position that did not make his head throb – something that probably did not exist. After the first dozen times, it really started to grate on Tybalt's nerves, but he forced himself to stay calm, as he knew, to some extent, what Mercutio was going through. And if _he_ might be able to find sleep, he knew Mercutio probably would not be so lucky, so he left him alone.

He would never admit it, but when he did find sleep, he slept better than he had in a very long time. And he definitely, definitely would not admit it, but he would gladly do it again. Preferably if that did not entail dealing with a sick and grumpy Mercutio the next morning as well.

 


End file.
